


Longing

by veronamay



Category: due South
Genre: Drabble, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-31
Updated: 2000-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: Thoughts on unrequited love, from Fraser's POV.





	Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    The Consulate is quiet. Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull have
    left for the day, returning to their homes and the lives they lead outside
    of work. As always, I remain here, because I have nowhere else to go.
    No-one to go home to. Only Diefenbaker, who does not care where he sleeps,
    as long as he is with me. I am grateful for his loyalty and friendship.
    But tonight it is a poor substitute for what I truly need. 
    
    //Ray.// I let his name curl through my body. Seductive, alluring, yet
    so golden and beautiful I can barely stand it. Sometimes it hurts even
    to look at him, so full of energy and life. I feel old by comparison,
    though we are the same age. Weighed down as I am by hidden emotions and
    tenacious control, I'm amazed that I can keep up with him. We connect
    on a level that is almost uncanny in its completeness. 
    
    The idea makes me smile wryly. Not *quite* complete. There are things
    I keep hidden from everyone, even Ray. *Especially* Ray. Things that
    would cause him to turn away from me, if he knew that I felt them. That
    I *feel* them, for him. 
    
    Oh, he wouldn't be disgusted, or even insulted. He wouldn't belittle
    me in any way. Ray is too - too *Ray* to every hurt anyone he cares about
    like that. He has no hang-ups about such things. He would possibly even
    be flattered by my feelings for him, in a way. But it would change things
    between us, and that I cannot risk. He would see me differently. The
    easy camaraderie, the sense of brotherhood we share, which I have come
    to depend on so heavily - it would all vanish, and I would be alone again.
    Lonely. I would lose everything that I hold dear, save for the wolf at
    my side. 
    
    I do not think I could survive that again.
    
    So it is that I sit here, in my small, dark office, with Dief on the
    floor beside me and a bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch whiskey open on
    the desk in front of me. The bottle was sealed when the evening began.
    It is now decidedly less than full. I squint in the dimness, aiming for
    accuracy. The bottle is, in fact, two-thirds empty. Not a bad effort
    for a man who professes not to indulge in strong drink. The liquid is
    the same colour as my boots, I note idly, examining them as they rest
    on the surface of my desk with my feet still in them. It is something
    I have watched Ray do many times. Now it helps me feel closer to him.
    
    I know I am pathetic. Sitting here alone in the middle of the night,
    steadily drinking myself into forgetfulness for love of a man I know
    I cannot have. It is a situation derived straight out of a romance novel,
    and a bad one at that. Still, I cannot refrain from imagining a suitable
    conclusion: Ray storming into the room, eyes and hair wildly dramatic,
    declaring his love for me in front of God and Queen and man, and meaning
    every word. I let myself revel in the thought for just a moment. If only
    ... 
    
    Then I laugh harshly, saluting myself with the glass and drinking deeply.
    It will not happen. Ray does not love me. He does not even know me. Not
    the deepest parts of me, which no-one has ever seen. I would show him,
    if he wished it. I would give him everything, all of myself, if he wanted
    me to. 
    
    And there's the rub. Ray, for all his sensitivity and beauty, does not
    see me. He sees nothing but Stella, the misty memory of his only true
    love, who has moved on. I can see the signs in both of them. After living
    with it for so long, it is second nature for me to see unrequited love
    and the pain it causes. I have vowed never to inflict that kind of pain
    on Ray. I do not wish to lose him like that, the way he has lost Stella.
    But in this, as in most affairs of the heart, he has the advantage. Because
    at least he *had* Stella, if only for a while. 
    
    The slow ticking of the clock is the only sound in the room. I reach
    for the bottle again, noting my unsteady hand and blurred vision. Good.
    The liquor has done its work well. Tonight, at last, I might sleep without
    dreaming of what might have been. Then I feel the first tears slide down
    my face, and I know the true depths of despair. When did I start lying
    to myself? 
    
    I take the bottle with me when I climb into bed. It pains me that I am
    brought so low, to use alcohol as a crutch like this. But the alternative
    is to show myself to Ray, knowing that he will reject me, and that, I
    fear, would destroy me completely. 
    
    And yet, some small vestige of hope remains. I laugh bitterly and disdain
    the glass, raising the bottle in a final toast to the stubborn futility
    of love. Then I close my eyes in pretence of sleep and await the coming
    of dawn. 
    
    FINIS
    


End file.
